


Nos es Ibidem (we are in the same place)

by flutter



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Control Issues, Dark Magic, Gen, Magic, Sad, btvs, buffy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-26
Updated: 2005-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 02:34:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flutter/pseuds/flutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I wanted to believe you." Willow tries to control the dark magic, Giles by her side, after returning home from England.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nos es Ibidem (we are in the same place)

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for butchering Latin, man.

  
"Please," she said when she felt his hands grip her shoulders. Breaking free from his grasp, she stepped to her left. She moved her arms in wide, circular motions that suggested she was readying herself to swim; a beginner's breaststroke. "Give me some room."  
  
She took a step back, then two more, and opened her arms wide. The space between seemed to bend there, twist and shudder as she flexed her fingers open and closed. The unfamiliar countryside surrounded them, the trees that dominated stood as backdrops to the landscape. When she inhaled the scenery shivered, rumpled as if only a worn photo and began to curl in on its self.  
  
"Willow." Her name was subtle, falling soft from his lips.  
  
She threw a customary, exasperated look to the right of her and the view around them shifted back into its proper sitting.  
  
"Come on, Giles. How will I know if I don't try?" Her eyelids fluttered before stilling, closed when her forehead wrinkled as she concentrated on manipulating the space beneath her feet.  
  
She didn't see—her eyes were closed and her head turned to face the ground—but she felt. His heart palpitated with concern—echoes of it worked its way in strings of opalescent energy toward her; she could feel his worry with clarity she hadn't always known.  
  
"You must let it happen naturally—let the ability come to you when you're ready," he said. She could feel the weight of him press against her magic as he leaned into his step and removed his glasses, could feel the air around him as it was disturbed by his moving to clean them. "This is not something that can be forced."  
  
"Rupert," she said, her affection for him etched in his name. Her eyes remained closed though her head tilted in his direction. "You yourself said it was up to me, that I need to learn how to control the power."  
  
"Yes, I well remember what I—"  
  
"And you, yourself," she continued as if he hadn't spoke, "said that I'm responsible for what's happening now—not Anya, not Xander, not Buffy, but me. _I_ performed the spell and invoked the magic that brought the First. Ultimately."  
  
She turned her head and faced the ground again. "This is my mess to clean up."  
  
He said nothing as he replaced his glasses and pushed them further up the bridge of his nose. A soft wind roused, carrying with it her voice.  
  
"A pedibus usque ad caput, a semita; nos es ibidem."  
  


#  
  
 _From feet to head, a path; we are in the same place,_ he thought. His body was motionless, waiting—hopeful, but afraid—to see her succeed.  
  
She needed to do this—he wanted her to do this; to somehow find the strength to control the power. He wanted to see her slip into the ground she faced, that even now started to quake in an eruption of quicksand. His desire to feel the magic ripple over him as she sank into it, through it, was strong. The spell she was casting would slip her into the earth beneath them; it would transport her, feed her body from one acre of land to the next. And she'd emerge, twenty-some-odd miles back and in Sunnydale. Back to Buffy.  
  
His arms flew out from his sides, balancing him as the trembling of the ground grew from a small quake into a violent rumble. A quick look at Willow and he saw that her face became a mirror of distinct strain. Tears squeezed free as she continued to whisper the incantation, continued to try and rein the power that wanted—tried—to escape her control.  
  
His feet moved forward before he thought, before he could even _form_ a thought.  
  
“No,” she said, her voice a siren above a sudden howl of wind. The eyes that flew open as he made to move flickered toward him. They were the very shade of Brunswick varnish—blacker than coal, blacker than night—as they swept over his face.  
  
Her body lurched and she fell forward onto her knees, an arm thrown out to stop him from following her there.  
  
“Stay back,” she said and he could hear it through her voice, see it crawl underneath the unmarred skin of her face. It undulated, swept and slithered from side to side, under layers of porcelain as she choked on sobs. He saw the cords of her neck tighten, watched her fists clamp before opening wide. Her palms, turned to the sky, shot down from her sides and slapped the ground on either side of her knees.  
  
Then the air settled and her sobs stilled into ragged gasps. He shuffled towards her on his hands and feet, wanting to hold her until her body stopped shaking. His path to her was defaced as Willow flew forward and vomited in front of him.  
  
With energy he didn’t have, with a grace he didn’t feel, he stood. Two steps to his right and he found his way to her clear. Once again with his hands on her shoulders, he gripped and pulled her to him. He breathed in her hair, felt her heart beat a rapid tattoo against his chest, and he sighed.  
  
She pulled away from him then, not looking at him but around them. The landscape had returned to it’s original design, the ground beneath them was solid, but inside she felt…  
  
“I wanted to believe you.”


End file.
